Cinnamon Buns
by Kikume
Summary: Fionna agrees to be Marshall Lee's date to the Lady of Evil's Nightosphere party in exchange for a special ingredient.
1. Cinnamon Buns

**Cinnamon Buns  
**

**A/N**: Love this show! How did I just discover it? (Warning: I haven't watched too many of the episodes yet, so this story may contain glaring inconsistencies or a general lack of Ooo know-how.)

* * *

"Dude, chill."

The usually composed Prince Gumball continued to blow on his reddened fingers. He cast a wild-eyed glare at Fionna. "This party is very important. Like, enormously end-of-the-world important. The fate of Ooo could depend upon the decadence of these very pastries."

Perched on a nearby counter top, Fionna stuffed another perfectly formed cinnamon bun into her mouth. End-of-the-world catastrophes were cool, but she was over pastry-related dramatics. It kind of got boring after the whole tart incident; she'd prefer to deal with some sort of new, magic power-having Evil Creature in need of a butt-kicking. But Prince Gumball was obviously upset – and it was really awesome that she and Cake had been dubbed the official Unofficial Royal Pastry Previewers – so she would make an effort to empathize.

"Mmmph," she said, sympathy muffled by a mouthful of melting sugar and flaky pastry. _So much deliciousness_. She swallowed with some effort while Cake devoured the remaining buns that Gumball had declared inedible.

"Tastes good to me," the cat said, expanding to accommodate the mass added to her belly. She returned to her normal size with a satisfied purr.

"So-oo," Fionna hummed, "what are you baking for anyway? Is it another science-y type thingamajig? Because I don't think my brain's up for anymore thinking of a strenuous nature."

"No, no." Gumball puttered around the candy-colored kitchen. The pink oven burped smoke as he opened it with hands now protected by thick purple mitts. He muttered what sounded like measurements to himself as he extracted another baking tin – the buns on this one were as round and sweet-smelling as their already devoured predecessors – and put in an uncooked batch. "Perhaps if I lowered the heat a little..."

"Well?" Fionna prompted. "Spill it, PG."

Gumball dropped the tin he was carrying with a yelp. "Fudge!"

Projectile pastries, one of which Fionna caught, scattered over the floor. Cake obligingly motored her tongue over the spilled cinnamon buns, slurping them into her gaping mouth.

"_Ew_," Fionna giggled in a tone of disgusted approval.

Gumball swiped an oven mitt over his dewy forehead. "I'm just so nervous about the event. It's making me all candy-handed. Anyway, Fionna, the Candy Kingdom is hosting a ball in honor of Lumpy Space Prince's lumpectomy."

"Sounds gross," Fionna and Cake said simultaneously. They shared goofy smiles and an obligatory fist bump before refocusing on the prince.

"Not at all," Gumball continued, equable now that he was discussing a subject that did not make him want to pop his bubblegum in frustration. "The lumpectomy is a sacred coming-of-age ceremony among the citizens of Lumpy Space. Much like the _quinceañera_, the lumpectomy signifies that a lumper is of marriageable age. Twenty year olds are presented to the community along with lumpy pastries symbolizing their eligibility and edibility."

Gumball pressed his palms together with a sigh. "I invited LSP's parents to the celebration in hopes of reassuring them of their son's continued well-being on Ooo, but..."

"Those lumping lunatics?" Fionna recalled the amorphous blob of their conjoined bodies with a vague sense of ickiness. "I dunno, man. They seemed pretty judgmental. Emphasis on the _mental_."

Gumball nodded. A heretic gleam lit his eyes as he said, "Which is why I am endeavoring to create cinnamon buns with the optimal number of lumps, but it is proving a difficult process. You see, I appear incapable of producing imperfect buns."

"I'll say. You're buns are the best, PG," Fionna interjected as she sampled another perfect pastry.

"The primo combo of firm and round," Cake added.

"Yes, well." Prince Gumball's expression soured with sadness. "I'm afraid my dear pal's parents won't think so; lump-less buns simply will not do. It's a disaster."

"Anything we can do to help?" Fionna asked, feeling particularly chivalrous with her stomach full of warm, gooey goodness.

One hand pressed to his chest, Gumball touched Fionna's cheek lightly with the edge of the other oven mitt. "Would you mind?"

"'Course not." False bravado added cheer to Fionna's voice. She felt her heart stutter as heat from the mitt transferred to her skin; she pretended to herself that this was the cause of the hot blush she could feel staining her cheeks. "What do we need to do?"

"Well, there is one person who has the ingredient needed to produce optimal lumpiness..."

* * *

Fionna slumped over the wide expanse of Cake's back. Being helpful had seemed like an algebraic idea at the time, but her enthusiasm waned the farther they traveled from the cozy confines of Prince Gumball's kitchen. She was sleepy.

"I'm too full of pastry to be heroic," she moaned.

"Girl, I'm too full of pastry to move." Cake continued to place one sizable paw in front of the other, but she moved as if through honey: slowly, reluctantly, each step appearing to require a monumental effort of will.

Fionna puffed up her cheeks like a chipmunk and pulled on the flopping ears of her hat. "If I were any fuller, I'd blow up like a balloon and float all the way to Lumpy Space."

"I'd have to be rolled back to the Candy Kingdom."

"I'd..."

They entertained themselves with increasingly epic descriptions of their degrees of fullness all the way to Marshall Lee's cave. Cake shrank once they reached the corrugated asphalt bridge stretched over the entrance. The cat shivered, fur fluffing as a sudden breeze wafted by.

"This place still gives me creepy chills," Cake commented as they as passed a row of stones jutting from the ground like fangs.

Fionna grinned, though her attention was focused on the distant sounds of a wicked bass run; _Marshal Lee must be jamming_, she thought with a pang of disappointment. They were here on Super Serious Business, but it sucked to miss out on a jam session. She'd been working on her balloon-playing, too. Maybe just a short one...?

"Marshall Lee," she called into the open front door of his house.

No answer. Cake shrugged in response to Fionna's raised eyebrows. Fionna could still hear faint musical chords, so she bravely soldiered through the entryway, ignoring the chill that seemed to stroke her shoulder blades in passing. Cake followed. Abruptly, all the lights in the house dimmed. The music stopped. Cake jumped, wide eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Not funny, Marshall," Fionna said in a voice that was too shaky for the reprimand to be considered firm. She felt Cake's furred body pressed tight against the backs of her legs.

"It's all you, girl," the cat whispered. She pushed Fionna forward, causing her to trip face first – into a pair of thin, clingy arms.

"Gotcha," Marshall Lee hissed into her ear. Fionna felt a forked tongue sneak out to lick her neck and squeaked.

"Unhand me, fiend." She reached a hand around for her sword, grasping at air.

Obedient, Marshall Lee released her with a snicker. The floor hit Fionna like a punch. She sprawled on her butt, thighs aching. She was vaguely aware of Cake's paw prodding at her ribs. The tiny touches felt like an apology for the push. "You still alive in there?"

"Mean," Fionna groaned under her breath. "Both of you are made of evil."

Marshall Lee snapped his fingers. The lights relit while Fionna relearned how to breathe. After a moment or two of thinking she was going to die from lack of air, she rolled to her feet with a huff.

To her dismay, her mind did that thing it had started doing lately: rather than simply registering that, _huh, Marshall Lee's wearing jeans and a shirt of some sort_, an analysis of his appearance scrawled through her brain. Messy black hair that looked soft to the touch, red sneakers, jeans with a hole in one knee, and – inexplicably – a grey sweater with a fire-pooping kitten on the front. This analysis annoyed as much as confused her, because one wasn't supposed to think that way about one's bro. It was, like, a violation or something. (His shirt was awfully cute though, in an awful sort of way.)

"Cake." Marshall Lee licked his lips as he regarded the cat. A fang peeked out when he grinned. "You're looking especially colorful today. Is that a new red collar?"

Cake's tail exploded into fluffiness. She hissed as Marshall Lee's fingers curled closer to the ruff of her naked neck. The vampire king threw his head back and laughed like this was the funniest thing ever. "Man, messing with you guys never gets old."

Fionna shuffled from foot to foot, because recently she'd become aware of the fact that she _was _getting older, and Marshall Lee...wasn't. She knew all about the vampire thing, of course – immortality, oooh – but it was all kinds of weird to suddenly realize, in the middle of beating on baddies with one of her best buds, that she had grown almost as tall as him. It had taken four years, but she could now look him in the eye when he teased her.

(Except that Marshall Lee had that annoying habit of floating around everywhere, so he still _seemed_ taller – which was pretty much cheating. Fionna was secretly grumpy about it.)

Their friendship was as stagnant as Marshall Lee's appearance: Fionna and Cake sometimes enlisted his help to defeat whatever threat was rampaging across Ooo that day; Marshall Lee reveled in pranking them; Fionna and the Vampire King engaged in typical bro activities like playing video games and trading insults. Nothing changed. Only, Fionna sort of wanted it to. Maybe. A little. Okay, not really, but a tiny niggling voice in her head sometimes wondered what it would be like to tongue-kiss a dude with fangs.

Marshall Lee encircled the back of his head with crossed arms as he drifted around the room. "So what's up, enchiladas?"

"We need some of that crazy bug juice, bat boy," Cake said without preamble.

"What, why? You guys planning a trip to the Nightosphere or something? 'Cause I wouldn't recommend it as a vacation destination. It's plenty hot, but the pests are _killer_."

After Marshall Lee had finished chuckling at his own joke, Fionna filled him in on the seriousness of the situation. "So, yeah. Can we have some?"

"Maaay-be." Marshall Lee smacked his lips. He floated over to the kitchen and extracted a bowl of strawberries from the fridge. His fingers shifted through the fruit before choosing a particularly ripe, juicy morsel, the colour of which he drained with a single bite.

Fionna tapped her foot against the floor. There was a forced quality to Marshall Lee's nonchalance that made her suspicious. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We're friends, right?" Marshall Lee asked with a disarming grin; traces of red clung to his fangs.

"Sure," Fionna said in a tone that added an unspoken caveat to the word: _sure, we're buddies, but not if you're going to be all weird and nonsense-making._

"And friends help each other out and stuff, right?"

"Yeah."

"Great. It's settled then." Marshall Lee slung an arm around her shoulder, which she brushed off with a grunt.

"What's settled, weirdo?"

Marshall Lee sighed. "So here's the deal: my mom's throwing this party thing in the Nightosphere, and I'm being totally forced into going. And I need a date."

"A date," Fionna deadpanned. Inwardly, her head was full of the sound of her heart: ba-dum, ba-dum, badumbadumBADUM.

"Yeah." Marshall Lee chucked her under the chin. "A girl, vaguely humanoid, preferably cool. You fit all the requirements. Plus, it'll make my mom wicked mad."

_Ah_, Fionna thought, catching on. This was one of those proving-his-independence-and-pissing-off-mommy things. "I thought your mom liked me and Cake now."

"Eh." Marshall Lee sucked the red from another strawberry with a look of deep contemplation. "It's kind of like how you might be cool with Cake's hypothetical ant friend, but if Cake started dating this ant companion, you'd be all, 'Whoa, back the fluff off, man, you're just a tiny, pure-good ant with no evil intentions or soul-sucking schemes.'"

He paused to grind the grey husk of strawberry between his fingers with more force than necessary. Fionna followed the resulting dust motes with her gaze as they collected on the ground in a lifeless heap. "Get it?"

"Ants are gross, guy," Cake pointed out. "Even if I didn't have Mochro, why would I date an ant?"

"_Hypothetical_," Marshall Lee hissed, flashing his fangs.

Fionna scratched the back of her head. _Am I the ant in that situation? _"Um, yeah, I get it. I think."

"Awesome. We'll leave after the lumpectomy thing tonight, 'kay?" Marshall Lee floated over to rifle through the contents of his fridge. "Why don't you guys head over to Bubba's place to reassure him that help is on the way before he blows his bubble? I'll meet you there once I scare up some of that bug milk."

"Uh-huh. Okay. See you...then," Fionna said, a bit dazed.

She had a sort-of date. With Marshall Lee the Vampire King.

* * *

"Girl, are you sure it's a good idea to go on a date with fang-y what's-his-face?"

"Totally," Fionna said with an airy wave of her hand. She patted Cake's shoulder as the cat loped across Ooo with giant stretchy strides. "What could go wrong?"

"Um, I dunno, maybe the Lady of Evil could give you some jewelry with _super evil powers of epic villainy and tentacle-having_."

Fionna was silent for a moment. She still sometimes had nightmares about her eyes bulging out and sprouting purple appendages. The sight of a well-tailored suit and tie made her physically ill to this day. "That was once."

"Once was enough."

Fionna agreed with all her heart guts, but said simply, "You worry too much."

"Mmm-kay," Cake purred, clearly still unconvinced. "But don't come crying to me when you get all crushed by a demon horde, 'cause I'm gonna be cuddling up to my man and loading up on ice cream. Lots of ice cream."

They reached the frothy, sweet-smelling walls of Candy Kingdom without incident. Various Candy People were rushing around the palace, their arms laden with lumpy-looking balloon animals. Dr. Donut was looking even more glazed than usual, and a drip of maple frosting sweated down his forehead as he hastily greeted the adventurers in passing.

"All this excitement is making me sleepy," Cake yawned as they reached the palace kitchen.

Gumball was exactly as they'd left him: mixing and baking and pouring with a degree of intensity usually reserved for activities not related to baking confectioneries, like ogre-slaying and demon-vanquishing. (At least, those were the things that made Fionna's face screw up with comparable feelings of concentration and must-be-successful-ness.)

"Well?" Gumball asked with uncharacteristic terseness. Too busy glaring at yet another batch of smooth, swirly cinnamon buns, he barely glanced at his guests. His lips tilted down at the corners, as if the force of his disapproval could cause lumps to form in the cooked balls of dough. "How'd it go?"

A hooting laugh interjected before Fionna and Cake could regale Gumball with the story of their heroics. _Didn't take him long_, Fionna thought with a pang of bashfulness. She took out her sword and pretended to polish its pinkish blade to distract herself from the unfamiliar feeling churning in her guts.

"Yo, Bubba." Marshall Lee swooped in through an upper-level window. A broad-brimmed straw hat flopped over his eyes, and a parasol – "umbrella," Fionna imagined him saying defensively; "a macho umbrella with scary skulls and lots of cool factor" – was open over his head. He was carrying his axe-bass and a plastic bag. "What's up, man?"

"You're here." Gumball blinked, as if disbelieving of this development. His bemusement quickly turned to renewed determination. "Just in time, my friend. Did you perchance bring the special ingredient?"

"Right here." Marshall Lee produced a carton of bug milk from the plastic bag after depositing his hat and parasol on the floor. He handed the carton to Gumball with a grin. "Straight from the malpighian tubules of a free-range, grain-fed centipede. Only the best for you, buddy."

Fionna and Cake exchanged looks of disgust that went unnoticed.

"Excellent!" Gumball smiled so widely that Fionna's smiling muscles twitched in sympathy. "I owe you one."

"Nah, it's all good." Marshall Lee winked at Fionna. She polished the shining flat of her sword with renewed fervor. _It's going to become a toothpick at this rate_, she realized with a sense of forlorn resignation. "Fionna's got me covered."

"Oh, really? Sweet," Gumball mumbled, already mixing batter with the single-minded absorption that gripped him when completing scientific experiments.

Dusk dawned hours later, painting the skies over Candy Kingdom in hues of darkening purple and creamy pale pink. A sweating Prince Gumball and a series of servants proudly emerged from the kitchen toting trays full of the lumpiest cinnamon buns Fionna had ever seen. Gumball's puffed sleeves were similarly lumped to perfection.

By this time, the palace foyer had begun to brim with party-goers: lumpers with sullen expressions – including LSP's parents and the prince himself – Candy People in their finest refined sugar finery, and various princesses bedecked in lumpy hats.

Everyone cheered – even a monotone LSP – as the trays were settled on the refreshments table, and the lumpectomy exploded into a chaos of dancing and eating.

"Um, Fionna," Prince Gumball called, sidestepping a gaggle of break-dancing gingerbread people. His cheeks were even pinker than usual, and he twiddled his fingers. _Is he gonna ask me to dance or something?_ Fionna wondered with a queasy feeling. "It seems the bug milk had an unexpected side effect," he continued.

That did not sound like a precursor to a flirtatious invitation. Fionna sighed, either in relief or disappointment; she wasn't really sure which. "Like, the buns aren't sweet enough or something?"

Gumball shook his head mutely. His eyes pinched at the corners, as if he were exerting extra effort to maintain a calm facade.

"Okayyy," Fionna hummed. "How unexpected?"

"Oh, it's nothing really." Gumball laughed nervously as an inhuman screech cut through the revelry. Ripping sounds and higher-pitched Candy People screams emanated from the direction of the kitchen. The music was so loud that Fionna could only barely discern sounds that called to mind horrific dismemberment and the spilling of candy-coated guts.

Gumball cleared his throat with a cough. "But, you see, as I was removing the last batch of buns from the oven – have you tasted them yet? Aren't they positively _repulsive_? It's wonderful – ahem, I mean, a large pastry centipede with a taste for candy flesh formed out of the excess dough."

Awesome. Fionna hefted her pink sword like a baseball bat. Even with the party and impending date, she'd begun to think that the day was a tad lacking in eventfulness. "I'm on it!"

She looked around for Cake, but the cat seemed to have disappeared. Lord Monochromicorn was also conspicuously absent, so Fionna resolved to handle the threat on her own. A hand tapped her shoulder as she pushed through the crowd.

"Where you off to, Fi?" Marshall Lee's voice sounded overhead.

"Kitchen. Centipede."

Marshall Lee's hands gripped her shoulders a little harder. Fionna let out a whoop of surprise as he lifted her, toting her over the mass of boogieing bodies.

"Milady," he said, releasing her by the kitchen door with a mocking bow.

"Thanks." She felt absurdly like she was propositioning him as she asked, "You gonna help me bust this bug or what?"

"No way, man." Marshall Lee struck a chord on the bass-axe he'd unslung from around his shoulders. "I just came to par-_tay_, yo."

Despite declining her invitation, Marshall Lee hovered after her as she entered the kitchen. Fionna carefully shut the door behind them so as to prevent other party-goers from witnessing the mass murderer making a mess of their refreshments – and servers.

Candy People in various states of disembowelment were scattered around the room. Those with attached limbs pulled themselves across the floor, fleeing from the pastry predator: a giant centipede, the sections of its serpentine body formed from doughy cinnamon buns. Its gleaming eyes shone with red, frosting-coated hate, and each of its sickle limbs appeared to be coated with icing sugar. Gnashing cinnamon sticks poked out of its head, more like deadly mandibles than antennae.

"Die, delicious-looking beast!" Fionna cried as she leaped over the counter.

The monster reared, mouth gaping. Fionna slashed her sword down in a wide arc. Eye juices spewed as her blade slashed across the centipede's eyes. Blinded, the creature lurched to the side with a screech, but not before spraying her with a streaming jet of saliva.

"Ack. What the yuck, man?" Fionna felt centipede spit dribble over her eyebrows. Her clothes, soaked in the stuff, reeked of melted sugar. She did not appreciate Marshall Lee's laughter as she swiped wildly at her stinging eyes with the hand not holding her sword.

"I think it likes you," Marshall Lee managed between chuckles. The centipede's swirled head whipped in the direction of the floating vampire. Seeming to think it was being made fun of, the monster gnashed at Marshall Lee's feet.

"Shoo, thing," Marshall Lee exclaimed as one of the centipede's cinnamon stick pokers caught at his shoelaces. He scissored his legs, the only result of which was the centipede's becoming increasingly tangled in his shoes and jeans. Marshall Lee's face contorted with annoyance, eyes bulging and fangs growing in size. Ears and a sizable snout sprouted from his face as he roared at the centipede. The creature flung itself backward with a screech, dragging a hissing Marshall Lee along with it.

Spying the opening left by this distraction, Fionna struck the centipede's unguarded lower half. Her blade parted the soft pastry flesh like – well, like soft pastry flesh. Rather than slumping into a wormy heap of dead, as defeated monsters were generally inclined to do, the centipede exploded with a thunderous expulsion of air and sugary bug guts.

"Woo!" Fionna cheered as intestinal confetti rained over the kitchen. "Way to go, team good guys."

"Speak for yourself," Marshall Lee said with a sniff, but his smirk tilted in a way that suggested he was pleased. A fleshy flap of cinnamon bun stuck to the side of his head like a hat, making Fionna giggle.

She ushered the injured Candy People out of the kitchen before they could pop with fright. She'd spotted Dr. Ice Cream milling about the crowd earlier, so she figured they'd be taken care of.

"Phew." Fionna sprawled on the sticky floor with a satisfied sigh. It felt good to stretch her monster-slaying muscles, but her hat – and, really, the rest of her – was a sweet saliva-covered mess. She set her backpack, sword, and worn hat down beside her, hoping that maybe some thoughtful candy servant would clean them later. Upon standing, she was semi-surprised to find Marshall Lee still hovering around.

He was grinning.

"What?" Feeling fiddly, Fionna pushed frosting-sticky bangs out of her eyes.

"Nothing." Marshall Lee picked pieces of pastry from the edge of his sweater as if embarrassed. Seeming to realize that this was a lame and unbecoming way for a thousand-plus-year-old undead monarch to act, he chuckled to himself and added, "You're just cute, that's all."

The intensity of his gaze made Fionna's cheeks flare. She gulped as Marshall Lee's eyes devoured the sight.

"Your blush looks yummy," he said vaguely.

"Want a taste?" _WHAT?! _Fionna mentally punched herself for spouting something so stupid. Her brain was officially made of mush.

But Marshall Lee just grinned, that insouciant one-fanged quirk of lips that made her want to prank people and laugh until she hurled. He tipped her chin up with one hand as he leaned closer. His lips were cold against her cheek, but Fionna felt her skin heat up anyway.

"Marshall," she whispered, not sure what she was planning to say next. She just wanted to say his name, liked the way it tasted on her tongue: like strawberries and mischief.

"Shh." The vampire king held a finger up to his lips in the universal sign of "be quiet or I'm not gonna kiss you, stupid."

Fionna shut up. And found that, as good as his name tasted, his mouth pressed against hers tasted better. (Then again, this might have had something to do with the sugary innards that dusted his upper lip.)

Her eyes shuttered, and her fingers shuddered as they fisted in the loose material of Marshall Lee's sweater. The kiss was weird, but in a good way. It felt like that time she'd gotten progressively cooler magical powers from those tadpole guys – minus the trickery and asteroid business, of course; each brush of Marshall Lee's body against hers introduced her to a sensation she previously hadn't known was possible. She didn't want it to end.

Neither, it seemed, did he.

Marshall Lee hefted her up onto the counter top, his hands firmly gripping her hips. Fionna allowed him to shrug into the space between her thighs; she encircled his hips with her legs without really thinking about it. Marshall Lee groaned into her mouth when her fingers whispered over the bite marks on his neck. Applying a bit of pressure to the spot experimentally, she was gratified by another sound that made her body feel tingly and warm.

"Maybe don't do that," Marshall Lee murmured against her lips. His fingers ground into the slivers of skin between her skirt and high-knee socks when she repeated the action.

"Does it feel good?" Fionna asked with a shyness that belied her bold touches.

"Nope."

She could tell he was lying. Marshall Lee nipped her bottom lip lightly with a fang, and Fionna let out a little gasp. She could feel his grin against her lips as he pulled back a bit. His gaze drifted down to where his fingers were gripping her thigh. He blinked, as if surprised to find his hand there. Emboldened by his flustered expression, Fionna pressed a kiss to his neck. Marshall Lee's entire body went rigid. Teasing him, she ran her tongue lightly over the faint pucker of his bite marks.

"Stop that, you," he said faintly. His voice sounded just the littlest bit breathy, which made Fionna grin.

"You scared, poor little king of vampires?" This was kind of fun. Fionna had always thought of romance and kissing as vaguely grown-up and intimidating. Like science, but even grosser and with more saliva. The revelation that making out could be scary, exciting, _and_ fun in a mundane, bantering way was almost as sweet as the traces of sugar still lingering on her tongue.

"Not even almost."

He kissed her, and the curious uncertainty of their first lip lock was replaced with a mutual challenge. Marhsall Lee slipped his tongue between her lips. The hand not inching along her leg tangled in her hair, heedless of the frosting matting the blonde locks. Almost dizzy, Fionna squeezed her knees against Marshall Lee's hips. His rocked forward, seemingly on instinct. Fionna squirmed at the sensation this evoked. She liked it, but, but—

It was too much all of a sudden, and this was Marshall Lee – her buddy, partner in pranking, and the famed, fanged Vampire King. She broke away with a muffled mewl of sound.

"Too fast?" Marshall Lee breathed against her shoulder.

"Maybe a little," she mumbled as she tried to decide if she was embarrassed or not. The best course of action, she decided, was to play it cool. "I mean, I don't wanna pressure you into anything you're not up for."

Marshall Lee let out a cackling laugh. "You're such a loser."

"Whatever, loser." Fionna shoved him so hard he tipped off his feet, but her mouth was curled in a reluctant half-grin.

Marshall Lee's laugh drifted off as he floated overhead. He flipped his body in midair, knees bent and hands tucked into his pockets. His smirk looked like a frown as he glided closer, but Fionna wasn't deceived. She crossed her arms as his finger sneaked out to teasingly trace her jawline. He darted forward before she could react, his lips meeting hers in an upside-down peck. It was a brief, bumpy sort of kiss that smooshed Marshall Lee's chin against her nose.

"All clean," Marhsall Lee said brightly. He licked a dollop of crimson frosting from the finger that had been perving on her chin. A brief frown contorted his face as he spat out the grey goo that remained after he'd drained the frosting of colour.

"Huh?"

"I was cleaning your face off. It was covered in sugar and stuff." He blinked innocently. Fionna was uncomfortably reminded of the way his mom had looked before she sprouted tentacles and bat wings and a lipless mouth prone to gobbling up unsuspecting souls. "What did you think all that was?"

_He's kidding, right?  
_

"What?" Fionna felt her brows tighten and her hands fist without conscious thought. Annoyance coiled with embarrassment in her belly, the snaky emotions intensified by the amount of chewed-up cinnamon buns she was still digesting. She made a sound like Cake's growling. "You're such a bleeping bozo, Marshall Lee!"

"Aw, c'mon, Fi, I didn't mean it." Marshall Lee lightly bopped her on the head with a closed fist.

Still feeling pouty, Fionna growled again. "Why do you always do that?"

"What?"

"Pretend like we're not buds, like you just hang out with me and Cake and PG by accident or for kicks. 'Oops,'" she imitated in a low-pitched approximation of Marshall Lee's voice. "'Did I just have a super-duper fun day hanging out with you lame-wads? How the heck did that happen? Craziness!'"

"You guys are pretty entertaining."

"Pfft." Fionna stuffed a stray cinnamon bun in her mouth just to give her hands something to do. All this talk of feelings was making her hungry, too. Her stomach gurgled in complaint, confirming her suspicion that she had devoured what was formerly a part of the centipede's torso. Yum.

"I'm sort of old," Marshall Lee said eventually, like this explained everything.

"So?"

"So nothing. I'm sort of old. Full stop. I don't have anything to add. Can we go back to being chill now or what?"

"I guess," Fionna said doubtfully, mostly because this whole exchange was proving perplexing and emotionally exhausting; like Marshall Lee, she preferred to deal with physical-type exhaustion.

There was a tiny pause during which they exchanged stares that said, louder than words, _now what?_

Both of them jumped a little when Prince Gumball's pink face poked through the doorway. "Are you heroic centipede-slayers coming? We're about to sing the sacred ceremonial song of the lumpectomy."

"Sure, be right there," Fionna said automatically.

"Oh," Gumball added. "And bring what remains of the centipede's carcass, would you? I think it would make for a lovely post-dessert treat to serve with tea."

Marshall Lee grabbed Fionna's wrist as she turned to follow Gumball. "Fionna, wait."

"What is it?"

He inhaled a deep, reluctant breath and blew it out with a rush of words: "I like you a lot, 'cause you're cool and funny and good at killing stuff – really good – and you always let me lick the ketchup off your fries. You're like my best friend, okay? So I don't want to mess that up."

"Yeah, me neither." Fionna's heart – it had been quite active today – did a funny little back flip in her chest. Marshall Lee's declaration wasn't exactly full of ooey gooey exaggerations of love and devotion, but Fionna thought it might be the most romantic thing she'd ever heard. Way better than those stupid clichés shiny-eyed lovers exchanged in the couple-y movies she'd seen.

"Hey." Marshall Lee's grin turned mischievous. "How would you feel about sneaking out early? My mom's party started like 20 minutes ago, so we'd be just the right amount of late."

"Shouldn't we clean off first or something?" She could feel melted sweetness crusting under her shirt.

"Meh. Believe me, no one in the Nightosphere will notice. Besides, dirty suits you."

"Okay, let's do it."

Fionna let Marshall Lee take care of the preparations while she sneaked out to say goodbye to Prince Gumball and Cake. The cat's pupils were enlarged – catnip and love-related intoxication, Fionna suspected – but she yowled at the prospect of Fionna ditching the lumpectomy with the Vampire King.

"You tell him that I'll bite his face off and wear it on my tongue if he lays a fang on you, got it?" Cake yelled as Fionna dashed away. Lord Monochromicorn seconded the cat's sentiment with a few swift pounds of his hoof.

A fiery opening had been burned into the kitchen wall by the time Fionna returned. "Ready?"

"Yup." Marshall Lee yawned and stretched. "Let's blow this popsicle party."

"Marshall?" Fionna added just as he stepped one foot through the flaming doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "I just like you a lot, too."

Marshall Lee made a grumbling sort of sound that might have signified any number of feelings: reciprocation, agreement, indigestion. He reached one arm back to her without turning around; Fionna grabbed his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her through the portal...

* * *

"This is very inappropriate," Ice King muttered, though a wide, triangular-toothed smile plumped his cheeks. He stuffed a handful of granola into his mouth and chewed noisily. "Ever so inappropriate. And rather OOC. I am appalled, Gunter."

"Hm." Ice King scratched at his beard. "I don't know if I can condone this kind of blatant Fionna and Marshall Lee shipping in my household, mister."

The penguin squeaked.

"Yes, that's true," Ice king agreed. "Love is a fickle mistress, indeed. Do you think maybe the Ice Queen might appear in later installments?" he continued. "Perhaps she will soothe a broken-hearted Prince Gumball's broken heart with her glorious beauty and marriageability? Oh, yes, I quite like that idea..."

Gunter's round eyes shone with authorial pride as Ice King patted her absently on the head.

"And what's this?" Ice King leafed through Gunter's notes for a second chapter. His mouth went slack as he scanned the pages; a few half-chewed pieces of granola pitter-pattered over the paper. "Well, well. Gunter, this is positively smutty."

The penguin blinked at Ice King with a look of mute incomprehension.

"Oh, you're good," Ice King whispered.

* * *

**A/N**: I fail at endings...

The Nightosphere party should be detailed in a second and final (shorter, smuttier) chapter after this one. Probably. It depends how fast Gunter writes, I guess.

Reviews are as sweet as cinnamon buns, but thanks for reading, regardless!


	2. Presents

The Lady of Evil was waiting for them.

Hana Abadeer sat behind a demonic-looking desk, her spine stiff and hands tented. Her long dark hair was secured in a bun; her pantsuit, so deep a maroon it appeared black, was similarly ironed to perfect sleekness. Fionna realized with a twitch of let-me-outta-here nerves that the desk had a tiny quivering mouth and round eyes from which a steady flow of tears were leaking.

"Marshall," Hana cooed in a honeyed voice. As if awaiting this signal, a fireplace roared into blazing life behind her. The flames cast shadows under the Lady of Evil's angular cheekbones, sharpening the knife-like frame of her face. "Dear, I was starting to worry that you weren't coming."

Marshall Lee fiddled with the bangs shadowing his eyes. "Yeah, well. Here I am."

"And who's this delectable morsel – er, mortal?"

Fionna cleared her throat of fear and phlegm. The Lady of Evil was clearly making an effort to embody the role of concerned maternal figure rather than mass-murdering, soul-sucking sociopath. The attempt wasn't entirely successful; her fanged smile was so unmoving that it could have been stapled in place.

"Hello, Marshall's mother, ma'am," Fionna said mechanically. "I'm Fionna. It is so nice to formally beat you – I mean meet you. Again. But in a nonviolent way, you know, this time."

"Smooth," Marshall Lee snickered under his breath.

"Huh." Without warning, the Lady of Evil's skull parted like two halves of sliced bread. Electric blue limbs snaked from her neck as a bulbous, horned head emerged from flapping remnants of skin. Hana's vertical mouth opened with a sucking sound.

Fionna recoiled as something vital and squishy deep within her chest wriggled. It felt like someone's fingers had fisted around her heart and yanked.

"Not cool, lady," she yelled as the ghostly wisps of her soul were suctioned down Hana's windpipe. Fionna's vision began to blur and darken.

"Mom!"

Fionna slumped as the pulling sensation lessened. Eyes closed, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Marshall Lee's hand curled around her sweating palm. Reflexively, Fionna squeezed his fingers tightly. She let herself lean against his shoulder until her legs stopped feeling like over-boiled noodles.

Marshall Lee bumped her shoulder with his; Fionna wobbled, almost tipping over. "How's the soul?"

"Sweet," Fionna mumbled, still dazed.

"Bitter with goodness, actually." The Lady of Evil resumed her humanoid form with a yawn. She licked her fingertips, as if savoring the flavor of Fionna's soul. "Nope. Don't remember you, and I always remember the taste of a soul."

Marshall Lee let out an aggrieved sigh. His grip tightened around Fionna's fingers. "Must you always try to kill my friends? It's embarrassing."

Hana pouted. "Sweetie, don't be so cruel to your dear old mother. I'm hurting your human servant out of love for you, Marshall; a bit of personal tragedy can be character-building."

"Fionna is my friend, Mom."

"Friend, dinner, what's the difference really?"

"Ugh, whatever. Can we leave yet?"

"No one escapes the Nightosphere!" A riot of tentacles erupted from Hana's face and neck.

Marshall Lee rolled his eyes. "You're _so _super evil and soul-sucky, blah, blah, blah. I've been hearing the same sales pitch from you for like a thousand years."

A tiny, abashed smile replaced the hideous visage of Hana's tentacle-covered face. "At least stay for presents."

"Presents?" Fionna mouthed to Marshall Lee.

He shrugged helplessly.

* * *

"Happy Deathday!"

A chorus of discordant voices repeated the phrase as the Lady of Evil led them toward a mountainous balloon-shaped being. Winged demons and spindly-legged devils ushered them forward with a parade-like momentum. The balloon creature yawned, revealing a cavernous mouth ringed with needle-sharp teeth. More alarmingly, a broad tongue flopped from the opening and unraveled until it flattened inches from their feet, red-carpet style. Hana stabbed her sensible heels into the beast's tongue as she boarded.

"So you died today, huh?" Fionna elbowed Marshall Lee as they tiptoed over the creature's squishy tongue.

"Yup. I don't really celebrate it anymore, but my mom's on this spending-time-together kick or whatever." Though Marshall Lee spoke with a perfunctory amount of scorn, Fionna thought he sounded secretly pleased. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Hm, let's see...I'm thinking, _nope_."

"Huh, weird." Marshall Lee forcibly laced his arm through Fionna's while she continued her attempts to break his ribs with her elbow. He managed to maneuver them in such a way that Fionna's head was the prime target of the saliva dripping from the wrinkled pink ceiling. _Gross_. "Must've slipped my mind."

"You do have a slippery mind." Fionna tackled Marshall Lee so that he slip-slid off his feet. (This was somewhat unsatisfying, as he merely caught himself in midair.)

She tried not to laugh as they passed beneath the beast's bobbing uvula; Cake would have made some catty comment about it.

Marshall Lee's mouth curled in an evil grin. "Oh my Glob. You're totally thinking about how that dangly thing looks like a dude's dingdong."

"What? No way, man." Secretly, she wondered if one of Marshall Lee's undead talents was mind-reading, or if perhaps he just knew her – and the weirdness that was her brain – really, really well.

She kind of liked that.

In order to reach the stomach – which, the Lady of Evil informed them, was where the party was being held – they had to slide down the tunnel of the creature's throat. It was fun. The balloon beast's intestinal walls jiggled when hit, which Fionna also found amusing. Their destination was a burning esophageal pit, the floor of which was drenched in acidic fluids and the melting remnants of half-digested bones. Many-limbed demons scurried around, serving sizzling drinks and some kind of wiggly meat to the arriving guests.

Immediately, Marshall Lee was accosted by a horde of demonic well-wishers. His hissing complaints were ignored as his mother herded him deeper into the belly of the party. A row of grinning gremlins blocked Fionna from following. She considered slicing a Fionna-shaped hole through their ranks with her sword, but..._maybe some alone time will make 'em mother-son besties - or Marshall's mom could turn him into a soul-sucking tentacle face again. But hopefully the first one._

The party wasn't a total bust. She did the wave with some demons, who were much better dancers than her on account of their lack of bones. And every time the balloon beast swallowed, a ripple effect turned the contents of his stomach, tossing the party-goers into one another like lettuce leaves in a salad. It was fun in a what-crazy-demon-will-I-bump-into-next sort of way. Winded after showing off her wicked dance moves, Fionna gladly accepted the fluted glass a passing server offered her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Liquid libido lubricator," the diminutive demon chirped. "Long-lasting lust to liberate longing and licentious...uh, feelings."

"Um." Fionna eyed the bubbling red drink. "Whassit?"

"Too much alliteration?" The server bobbed his head apologetically. "I'm something of a loquacious lecturer. Apologies, milady."

"Sooo," Fionna waffled her arms in a random direction. "I've gotta pee..."

She backpedaled through the crowd of crazy. _Where the puff is Marshall Lee?_ A hand tapped her shoulder. She turned, grinning – at the Lady of Evil.

"Oh, Fionna," Hana crooned. "I wouldn't drink that icky stuff if I were you. It'll make you all horny." She gestured vaguely at the horns she'd sprouted from the sides of her skull. "Here, have this instead."

The Lady of Evil snapped her fingers, conjuring a vial of oily black sludge into existence. Noticing a piece of scotch tape attached to the glass as she accepted the vial, Fionna read the label aloud: "'Death-Dealing Dew – if you can't kill 'em with kindness, try poison.'"

Hana smiled brightly. "Catchy slogan, huh? The Nightosphere's marketing and production departments are limited to fatal substances right now, but we're thinking of branching out into microwaves."

"Riiight." Fionna resolved to do and imbibe the opposite of everything Marshall Lee's mother endorsed. She waited until Hana was waylaid by a devilish dervish before ditching the Death-Dealing Dew. With a shrug, she upended the entirety of the demon server's crimson concoction into her mouth. The taste of cinnamon exploded on her tongue as the liquid slipped, burning, down her throat.

She was still coughing when Marshall Lee found her. His hair was askew and there was a new hole in the shoulder of his sweater, but he seemed relatively happy and unharmed. "Y'all right there, Fi?"

"I'm choking to death," Fionna managed in a roughened whisper.

"Is that all? I thought you were dying or something."

Hana Abadeer sidled up to them with unsubtle solicitousness. A frown pinched her eyebrows as she regarded Fionna. "Shouldn't you be – what phrase am I looking for? - oh, yes, shouldn't you be dead by now?"

Marshall Lee's eyes glowed yellow, the pupils slitting. "Ma, tell me you didn't try to kill Fionna."

"Only a little." Hana smiled disarmingly. "You're so sensitive, honey."

"Argh. That's it. We're leaving." Marshall Lee scooped Fionna up like a puppy, cradling her in his arms. She was too wonky in the head to either appreciate this or grow embarrassed, though thankfully her cough had subsided.

"But you haven't even tried the CAKE," The Lady of Evil roared. Dark clouds billowed around her as the bulbous head of her demonic form emerged from a split in her skull. Tentacles curled around Marshall Lee's wrists and ankles, impeding his flight.

"I left my sword in the Candy Kingdom," Fionna mumbled, growing more alert as a slimy tentacle crept up her leg.

"Hey, my mom got me a sweet sword-bass for my deathday - use that."

Fionna wriggled out of Marshall Lee's arms. Raised by cats, she had been taught at an early age to always land on her feet, as she did now. She retrieved the sword-bass from a stack of morbid presents and stumbled toward the Lady of Evil, who was flailing and decapitating demons indiscriminately. Fionna hacked at every tentacle within reach. Freed, Marshall Lee flew to Fionna's side as his mother bent to glare at them with bulging eyes.

"_You_ are a mean old momster with bad manners." Fionna brandished the sword-bass menacingly. Adrenalin and inebriation pumped through her blood. "Also, I'm dating your son – well, not really, but—"

Marshall Lee stalled her rambling with his lips. One of his hands curled over hers around the handle of his sword-bass, ensuring that Fionna didn't skewer him in surprise. Slightly dizzy, she curled her fingers in the pockets of his jeans, drawing him closer. Her awareness of the room – demons screaming as they were inadvertently zapped by the Lady of Evil's fury, glass breaking, and intestinal rumbles – dimmed as the kiss deepened. Marshall Lee squeezed her waist tightly before releasing her.

"That was really cool," he said, grinning crookedly.

As much as she wanted to linger in this state of post-make out euphoria, Fionna resigned herself to escaping their impending doom. With unspoken agreement, she and Marshall Lee fled toward the nearest wall.

"Sorry, guy!" Fionna yelled as she cut through the balloon beast's intestinal wall. The monster's stomach began to deflate with an audible _whoosh_ of air as they struggled through the makeshift opening.

"Thanks for the party, Mom!" Marshall Lee called by way of farewell.

Distantly, Hana's gravelly, rage-infused voice echoed: "I still love you, Marshy!"

_Marshy_. Fionna snickered to herself as the hot Nightosphere air swamped her skin. She could feel her energy sagging, the aftereffects of the demon's concoction intensifying.

"Hold on," Marshall Lee murmured.

Fionna allowed herself to slump against his chest, her hands fisting automatically in the loose material of his sweater. Despite her attempts to remain conscious, she felt darkness engulf her as they floated toward the portal in Hana's office.

* * *

She awoke with a cool cloth on her forehead. Her head was cushioned by soft denim, and someone was stroking her hair with rhythmic motions. Every muscle in her body was wonderfully soft and languid with that feeling of just-waking-up sleepiness. Uncomfortable cushioning dug into her spine, but she hardly noticed.

"Are you taking care of me or something?" Fionna asked drowsily. _I'm lying on Marshall's couch_, she realized. _My head is on his lap. Those are his fingers curling in my hair._

"Nah. This is how we landed."

Fionna smiled. "With the damp cloth and stuff?"

"Yup."

"Heh." Fionna stretched like a cat while Marshall Lee grinned down at her. "Hey, sorry I didn't get you anything for your deathday."

"It's cool." Marshall Lee shrugged. Though full of mischief, his sudden smile was somehow sweet. He tugged on her hair lightly. "Dude, did you see my mom's face when you kissed me? _That_ was a wicked present."

"It was hard to miss, _Marshy_," Fionna teased, covering the quaver in her voice with a little laugh. She moved her head experimentally; immediately, dizziness drained her mind of sense. Her clothing itched – and not only with dried bits of centipede guts and cinnamon bun goo. Everything was tight. Marshall Lee's hand tangled in her hair made her shiver with some sort of dimly understood anticipation.

"You okay, Fi?"

"I feel weird." Her head was swimming in a pool of stupid. _Is that Marshall Lee? I like him. His hair is black. Hee._

She giggled for no reason at all. Everything was just _so_ funny.

"What the flip-flop is wrong with you?" Marshall Lee's face contorted with a mixture of concern and amusement.

Giving in to a ridiculous impulse, Fionna pinched his bluish cheeks. "You're squishy."

"You're loony." Marshall Lee trapped her wrists with his hands. "You didn't eat anything weird, did you? Did my mom give you something? 'Cause she can't be trusted with anything related to food, and there was that whole thing about her trying to murder you..."

Fionna was too fascinated by the texture of his skin to answer, the feel of bass-roughened fingers she was used to touching only during post-jam session high-fives. She was vaguely aware that Marshall Lee was still rambling – "this is so like her!" – but her attention was elsewhere. The giggly hysteria that had been clouding her mind didn't necessarily recede, but she became more aware of a new sensation: a heightened sensitivity, almost a tingling, as if her skin was suddenly too snug.

She pressed a close-mouthed kiss to Marshall Lee's wrist; the scratchy material of his sweater tickled her chin. The Vampire King released her hands with a yelp as she floundered bodily into his lap. Fionna sighed. The feel of his thighs under her hips anchored her. Some of the tightness in her chest and lower belly eased too, as if Marshall Lee was a safe harbor for the drowning intensity of her feelings.

Marshall Lee made a feeble effort to push her away. "Seriously, Fi, why you be acting all cray cray?"

Fionna was beyond words. She wanted to rub herself against the couch, as Cake sometimes did during those early spring days when she got all crabby and spent extra time with Lord Monochromicorn. But the thought of doing so made Fionna feel squiggly inside – so she nuzzled against Marshall Lee instead. His hands gripped her shoulders automatically, not so much restraining as holding her steady, as she feathered kisses over his neck.

"_Marshall_. It feels all weird." Fionna puffed up her cheeks. "C'mon. I saved you from the tentacles with my sword skills; now you have to help me with your skill."

"And just what is my skill, oh heroic one?"

"Experience."

"Eh?"

Fionna twiddled her thumbs. "Yeah, like you've, um, lived inside a lot of different places."

Marshall Lee made an insulted sniffing sound, though the corners of his mouth quirked. "Dude. Are you calling me a vamp tramp?"

"If the fang fits." Fionna poked him in the chest.

"I just don't think this is a good idea."

"Boooo."

Marshall Lee smoothed away Fionna's frown with his thumb. "None of that, now."

His fingers hooked behind her neck, drawing her into a kiss. He hummed a brief tune against her lips; the vibrations seemed to migrate to Fionna's stomach, creating a nervous, pleasant sensation that made her squirm on Marshall Lee's lap. He shifted in response. Fionna felt the tension in her lower belly coil tighter as their hips gyrated – cautiously, experimentally – in time with a silent beat. It wasn't so different from jamming together, really: both of them leaning into the music, giving and taking as the melody required.

Marshall Lee's breath – Fionna couldn't recall if she'd ever heard him breathe so audibly before – was hot against her shoulder as they broke apart.

"Well, that was...confusing," she panted.

"I didn't say I wouldn't, you know, help you out," Marshall Lee mumbled. Fionna's skin seemed to throb with every exhalation of his breath against her skin, making her shiver appreciatively. "I just don't wanna do something that'll make you – or me, when Cake learns about it – unhappy after."

"That wouldn't happen." Fionna rubbed her thighs together, too delirious to really be cognizant of what she was rambling about. "You're like the coolest, most fun-having guy friend I've ever had, Marshy. I might even be in love with you a little, although it does sometimes make me nervous when you act all fake-evil – but not really, 'cause I know you're ooey gooey on the inside."

"Really?"

"Um, yeah, totally." Fionna pursed her lips. She wriggled absentmindedly, still straining toward a feeling that seemed just out of reach. "Ooey gooey. Isn't that a fun thing to say? Ooey. Gooey. Don't you just love jelly bellies. They're so squishy and cute and kickable, and they stick really well to ceilings."

"...Okay?"

"Okay. Can we smooch now?"

Marshall Lee smirked in a way that Fionna interpreted as _how could I resist such a smooth talker_? His body relaxed against hers, their movements less tentative now that they'd chatted it out. Fionna let out a mewl of sound as he nibbled on the skin under her ear. Marshall Lee's whole body began to tremble. Fionna thought it was her mind playing tricks before sound began to accompany his movements.

"What is it?" she gasped as his hand crept under the hem of her shirt.

The trembling resolved into muffled snickers. "You sound just like Cake."

"Ack." Fionna would have been embarrassed if not for the hum of urgency short-circuiting her brain's ability to comprehend anything but get-naked-and-do-stuff feelings. She merely pulled Marshall Lee up for a harder kiss as his hand explored the curve of her waist, rib cage, the skin under her breasts.

Fionna was torn between her inexperience and her potion-fueled eagerness. Marshall Lee's gradual pace wasn't quite working for her, but she didn't know what to do about it. Her knowledge of sex – and most of the things that preceded it – was mostly limited to Cake's lectures:

"_Fionna, sex is a magical experience."_

"_Like wizard stuff?"_

"_Um, no, not exactly. More like...a train. Yeah, like a train."_

"_A train."_

"_Oh, and a tunnel. When a boy train loves a girl tunnel lots and lots, he expresses his love by taking the express lane of physical affection."_

"_...I don't get it."_

"_Baby girl, it's like this: the train zooms into the tunnel – but only when they're both at least twenty-five years old and emotionally mature and stuff – and after a bit the train crashes into the tunnel walls."_

"_Then what?"_

"_Uh, well...then they...collide...in an explosion of intimacy. KABOOM."_

Vaguely horrified by this explanation, Fionna had refrained from asking any more questions of a prurient nature. So she was operating on instinct here.

"More," she moaned, frustrated.

"Jeez. Bossy." Nevertheless, Marshall Lee dragged Fionna's shirt up and over her head while she flailed her arms in a helpful – but actually kind of hindering – manner. Still impatient, Fionna undid her bra herself and flung it away – only to freeze, hands cupping her chest, as she realized, _This is Marshall Lee, and oh my Glob where did my shirt go?_

"D'you wanna press pause?" Marshall Lee asked, eyeing her covered chest with a shuttered gaze.

"Not really." Fionna felt her face heat as she forced her hands away from her chest. _It's just Marshall_: the thought steadied her even as it had earlier unsettled her. Her breasts – not quite as small as would be ideal for an adventurer of her level of activity – bounced in a way that drew Marshall Lee's gaze.

His eyelids drooped as he cupped her breasts in calloused palms, his movements almost lazy. The way he touched her – thumbing her nipples and outlining her sternum with his hands – was almost impersonal. It was, Fionna reflected dizzily, very like Marshall Lee to feign indifference for the things – or people – about which he was most passionate. Or maybe she was overthinking it. Regardless, Fionna drew in a sharp breath, arching unintentionally into his hands. The liquid fire raging through her body stilled, as if sated, before overwhelming her with an even more intense sense of need.

"Easy, babe," Marshall Lee murmured as his mouth closed over one rosy nipple.

Pretty much ignoring him, Fionna tugged at the hem of his sweater. The woolly material rasped against her skin. And, also, she wanted him to be naked.

"Off?" Marshall Lee asked, his tongue tracing the skin between her breasts.

"Off."

Marshall Lee drew away, allowing her to pull his sweater up and over his head. He favored her with a fanged smile as her hands skimmed his revealed skin. Marshall Lee was a lean sort of skinny. Fionna barely brushed his stomach, but faint muscles tightened beneath her fingers. Her hesitant touches weren't so much a result of inexperience as a reflection that she was learning to touch someone she'd thought of as a friend in a more-than-friend way.

Seeming to sense her indecision, Marshall Lee pressed a soft kiss to her throat. His fangs slid against the skin there, teasing, and Fionna shivered. She gripped Marshall Lee's shoulder as his fingers fiddled with the fabric of her skort. His hand inched higher only to recede, toying with the hem. Her thighs quivered, unable to keep still.

"What the heck, yo?" she finally exclaimed.

"Hm." Marshall Lee drew soothing circles – which had the opposite effect – on her thigh. "I've decided I'll only go further on the condition that we go all the way."

Fionna gulped. "All the way? You mean like up to tier fifteen?"

"Tier...huh?"

"Yeah, you know." Fionna counted on her fingers, reciting what Cake had told her. "Tier one is hugging, tier five is tummy-touching. Etcetera."

"Pfft. Whatever you say, squirt. So hows about it?"

"I dunno..." _I might not be ready. And, also, Cake would kill me. But I do care about Marshall Lee as more than a friend, and if someone doesn't touch me soon I'm gonna implode...argh._

Marshall Lee drew away completely, hands raised innocently. His smirk was deceptively affable for what was, Fionna decided, an _evil, evil expression_. "Hey, if you don't want to..."

The absence of touch left Fionna feeling hollow. "Fine, fine, okay."

"Good." Marshall Lee nudged Fionna until she toppled off of his lap. She scooted further up the couch automatically. His hands found her hips as his weight settled over her, eliciting an appreciative sigh. _That's more like it_, she thought as the armrest cushioned her head. Marshall Lee's nose nudged hers when he bent to kiss her: they were both smiling as their lips met. Feeling braver with her eyes closed, Fionna tucked her knees against his hips, drawing him close enough that the space between their bodies lessened to a sliver. The sensation of his cold skin against her nipples made her shiver with both discomfort and longing.

_Ahhhh_. She let out a long, low sigh as Marshall Lee's hips swiveled. Sensation, foreign and intimate, flooded Fionna's lower body. It was strange, because the lumpy couch was bruising her spine and digging into her butt, but everything – even, somehow, the discomfort – just felt so _good_.

"Is this okay?" Marshall Lee breathed against her cheek. In answer, Fionna arched, intensifying the skin-to-skin contact. A chuckle vibrated against her chest. Fangs shifted along her jaw, nipping and teasing. "I'll take that as a yes."

They slipped and brushed against each other, Fionna gradually adjusting to this new way of moving. Her skin felt raw and sensitive, yet she hardly registered Marshall Lee's hand slipping over her belly and beneath her skort and underwear – the latter of which were the only kind Fionna owned: plain and functional. This might have been embarrassing had Marshall Lee's deft fingers not been turning her thinking parts to putty. Fionna squeaked at the first touch of his fingers against her clit. He circled gently, letting her get used to the sensation.

_Oh_. _Yes, please_. Her high-pitched squeal deepened to a moan.

She wriggled as Marshall Lee pushed two fingers into her, not liking this so much. The fullness was uncomfortable, though the pushing feeling hinted at the possibility of pleasure. Maybe. Seemingly attuned to her body, Marshall Lee rubbed his thumb over her clit, soothing. It was too much and too little, a heady mixture that overwhelmed her. Fionna curled her hands in his hair – messy and surprisingly soft – grasping and pulling lightly. Marshall Lee groaned, muttering something she couldn't quite hear. _Almost, almost, almost_, her body seemed to whisper with every clench and release. Marshall Lee's fingers hit something deep within her while his thumb stroked _just right_, inflaming her.

"That's it, Fi, I've got you," Marshall Lee whispered against her neck as she fell apart.

The euphoria wracking Fionna's body was unlike anything she'd ever felt. Even the glow of having defeated the Gladiator Ghosts in Fight King's arena couldn't compare. Every muscle in her body seemed to simultaneously tighten and let go as Marshall Lee's fingers kneaded her to greater heights of feeling. Even the tips of her toes tingled with pleasure. Stars speckled the blackness of her eyelids. It was almost – almost – too intense, so that it was more relief than disappointment to feel herself relax. She slumped, boneless with fatigue. The lingering effects of the demon potion slipped away like water down a drain.

After a moment of recovery, Fionna blinked up at Marshall Lee. "Thank you," she said, all foggy-eyed and lazy-happy.

Marshall Lee pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. His eyes were crinkled with amusement and something else – smugness? "What are friends for, right?"

"Mm. Friendship is nice." A wayward thought interrupted Fionna's new-found lethargy. "Hey. What happened to the whole 'we have to go all the way' thing?"

"Oops." Marshall Lee shrugged. "Guess I forgot."

_So typical._

She grinned. "I knew it. You're so full of it. But..." Fionna waved her hand in a circular motion around his crotch. "What about all of this business?"

"Don't worry about it." Marshall Lee crossed his arms behind his head. His eyes drooped, regarding her, and his lips balanced between a pout and a smirk. "This stuff's no fun if I can't trick you."

"Uh huh." A warm, fuzzy feeling suffused Fionna's chest, as if a clowder of kittens were cuddled around her heart. She liked a challenge. More than that, she liked Marshall Lee. A lot.

Feeling bold, she draped herself over Marshall Lee's lap again. She felt him stiffen, his hands waffling in surprise. Her fingers were shaking slightly as they fiddled with the button and zipper of his jeans, tugging and pulling ineffectually.

"What're you doing?" His voice was very slightly high-pitched.

"Guess." _Open_! Fionna concentrated all her mental functioning on the utilitarian task of undoing his jeans, but...it...wasn't...working.

"_You_ are hopeless."

"It's impossible. You've obviously bespelled your pants with some kind of anti-opening vampire trick."

"Yeah, it's called hormones," Marshall Lee said dryly. He was clearly enjoying her frustration. Fionna swatted his hands away when he would've helped. The rusted zipper finally gave way, allowing her to slip a tentative hand past the covering of jeans and boxers.

"Nervous?" Marshall Lee asked, looking nervous himself. He sucked in a breath as her hand closed around his erection.

"Nope, not me. I never get nervous. It's an adventurer thing." This was usually true, but anything romance-y made her sweaty-palmed and tongue-tied. So she _was_ nervous. But in an exhilarating I'm-going-to-do-this-and-it-will-be-awesome kind of way. Because this was her buddy, personal annoyance, and occasional secret squatter. And in the event that she failed miserably, well, he would only mock her for the remainder of her mortal life. No big deal.

She started slow, testing his reaction. His hips flexed beneath her thighs in mute encouragement. There was something addictive about the way his breath shortened, gaze glazing as her hands slid up and down. It was, she thought, going well – until his faint moans began to resemble smothered laughter.

Fionna squeezed warningly. "Hey, man, when you laugh it throws me off my game."

"Your – _ah_ – handjob game?"

Fionna sniffed primly. "Yes."

"Well, can I offer some boy advice from the perspective of a boy who's been boyish for a long time?"

"How long, exactly?"

"Really long." Marshall Lee audibly gulped as Fionna tightened her grip around his erection. Teasing, she stroked the soft skin in a vague swirling motion that seemed natural. She was gratified by the added huskiness in Marshall Lee's voice as he added, "Um, maybe hold it less like you're getting ready to run an ogre through with my bits and pieces."

"Huh?"

"It's not a sword, Fi."

"_Oh_." Cheeks turning pink, Fionna realized that she had, indeed, been gripping his erection rather as if it were the hilt of her sword.

"You're cute when you blush."

This remark, of course, had the effect of deepening the colour on Fionna's cheeks. She rubbed a little faster, a bit firmer, quieting any further snarky commentary. It took less time than Fionna was expecting to reduce the so-experienced Vampire King to a state of quivering and panting. Marshall Lee's erection seemed to pulse beneath her hand's still-tentative grip. He let out a low groan, and Fionna's mouth formed a small _O_ of surprise as sticky wetness coated her fingers. She brought her fingers to her lips, licked, and stuck her tongue out with disgust at the taste. _No, thank you_. Surreptitiously, she wiped her hand on the already much-stained fabric of Marshall Lee's couch.

Marshall Lee, eyes still closed, let out a lazy huff of laughter. "Please tell me you're not wiping anything on my couch."

"Nope, not me." Fionna paused, considering post-coital topics of discussion. As usual, her thoughts turned to her prime advisor on matters of love: _what would Cake say?_

"_Just be you, girl. But sexy-like."_

_Okay, I can do that. Sexy talk can't be any harder than projectile spitting._ Fionna cleared her throat, ignoring the fact that Marshall Lee still looked on the 'un' side of conscious. "So," she said huskily, "wanna do stuff later?"

Marshall Lee peeked his eyes open. There was something soft and satisfied in his gaze that Fionna didn't see very often. "Is that supposed to be some sort of proposition?"

"Could be. Or it might just be an invitation to play BMO."

Marshall Lee grinned. "Only if we can chase some wolves afterwards."

"You're on." _Banter between buds totally owns sexy talk_, Fionna decided with a grin. "Dude, this couch sucks big time," she added irrelevantly.

"It really does. I never noticed before."

"Soooo," Fionna yawned and stretched. "I'm gonna shower, yeah?"

"Go for it."

Fionna scrambled off the couch. She grabbed her shirt and bra, covering her chest with the former as she sidled into the bathroom. The shower felt amazing, cleansing her skin of dirt and bug guts and several sticky substances. Refreshed, she wrapped herself in a threadbare towel and poked her head into the living room. Hearing strains of music, she paused to listen.

Marshall Lee was still sitting on the couch. His axe-bass was cradled against his chest – now covered by an unbuttoned plaid shirt – and he was crooning softly.

"_I float around all day,_

_But now, sitting here, I'll say,_

_This couch is all torn apart;_

_It fe-e-e-els just like my heart._

_Fioooooona..._

_There's something about your stupid smile._

_Dealing with you should be a trial,_

_And I-I-I-I don't know why—_

_What is this feeling I'm feeling? _

_It makes me wish I didn't die._

_Fioooooona..._"

Marshall Lee's voice drifted off to a charged silence. His axe-bass dangled from loose fingers. He lurched into the air with a groan and floated over to the kitchen. "Yeesh. All this emotional stuff is giving me heartburn."

Fionna put a hand over her own chest; it was sort of burning too. In a nice way, like crackling logs in a campfire.

"Happy deathday, Marshall Lee," she whispered with a small smile.

* * *

"Oy." Ice King fanned himself with a flap of his tunic. "That was..."

Gunter squeaked hopefully, pen clasped between her fins.

"...terrible." The penguin deflated as Ice King continued, "I mean, really, Gunter: _heroine drinks mysterious wonky beverage, resulting in sexytimes_. You basically copied the plot of every plot-less fanfiction _ever made_. Shameful."

Disheartened, Gunter cuddled her pen closer and began to waddle away as Ice King continued rambling.

"I like the way that evil lady thinks though; do you think she's princess-y, Gunter? Gunter? Gunter?!"


End file.
